


Feathers

by echoalias



Series: Trinkets [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Female Eivor (Assassin's Creed), Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29439558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoalias/pseuds/echoalias
Summary: There's a yellow feather on Randvi's map table.  Another out in the longhouse.She wonders where they'll lead her.aka Adventure Date mark II.
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Series: Trinkets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191173
Comments: 12
Kudos: 95





	Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after Sigurd returns, when Eivor and Randvi really, really need a break. Just let them hide away and kiss, damnit!  
> Also, I often wonder just what Eivor could do - besides selling, obvs - with a million random feathers and the other bits of tat she picks up. So here's me making use of them!
> 
> (I haven't uploaded to AO3 in literally years, watch this all go terribly wrong! XD)

Sigurd prowls the settlement like a caged animal, snappish and hostile. His demeanour balances on a knife’s edge: silently judgemental, interspersed with enraged outbursts.

He ignores Eivor, when she sees him walking to the docks. He seems to have decided she is no longer worth his time, his perpetual grimace drifting right over her as he stalks away. Truthfully, he's barely spoken to her since he's returned - since he yelled at her in the longhouse, since their talk by Dag's grave. After passing cruel judgement on Holger, and berating Eivor in the process, he's done nothing but glower at her.

Sigurd isn't Sigurd anymore. He's changed, been changed. Been twisted and lied to and made delusional. His face speaks of pain deep to the marrow, deep into the mind, and though he wears his lost arm like a badge of honour, he must be hurting from that, too.

He isn't the brother Eivor grew up with, admired, believed in.

He’s more unbearable by the day. Eivor is strong - esteemed drengr of the Raven Clan, level-headed diplomat too, now - but she has had moments of weakness recently. After all that has happened in the passed months: the fighting, the endless searching, fragile leads and dead ends, the deep aching doubt of maybe not finding Sigurd at all… Eivor feels weary. She no longer has the energy to keep fending off Sigurd’s volatile moods, though she knows she must endure them. It is not his fault...

She lingers close to the settlement for a while, both because she wants to keep a close eye, and also because Sigurd - the Jarl returned, the one she must now answer to again - doesn't send her away.

But Eivor is weary. And Sigurd barking orders at her, causing unrest amongst the clan, upsetting the children, makes her more tired still.

She needs to get away. 

So she volunteers to go hunting, laying traps and shooting deer to feast upon, and rides her horse in circles, patrolling for enemies that don't come. She wishes they would; a fight might clear her head of her frustrations. She sorts her weapons, gathers herbs for Valka, carries messages to Randvi’s scouts.

Randvi…

Randvi is more...complicated, now. They'd grown exponentially closer since Sigurd had been away, emotionally and physically. And, although they were careful not to be noticed by the clan, especially with Dag's beady eyes constantly scrutinising Eivor’s every move, they had managed, of a sort. The war room was a quiet and often isolating place, after all.

The thought leaves Eivor frowning, as she rides around the northern perimeter. Her and Randvi had both agreed to take a step back from each other, for a time. With Sigurd so volatile, any discussion about their relationship would not end well. And the thought of him figuring it out - or witnessing it! - for himself, makes battle-hardened Eivor sweat cold in a way she doesn’t want to focus on.

So Eivor keeps her distance when Randvi discusses plans for alliances, and they don’t meet outside of the longhouse, and they haven't kissed in weeks.

Randvi looks graver by the day - Eivor is not arrogant enough to think this occurs only due to their distancing. Sigurd is a dark shadow over Randvi too, perhaps even more so. She is after all, his wife. And all that that entails. The turmoil broiling in Sigurd's mind, his looming presence back at the settlement, constricts around Randvi. Some days Eivor wonders if its crushing her.

Randvi needs to get away, too. The War Room, and the settlement prowled by its returned Jarl, is a cage to her as well.

So Eivor, riding around the perimeter of Ravensthorpe, no bandits to fight and time on her hands – and empty space in her heart - makes a plan.

*********  
There's a yellow feather on Randvi's map table.

Which is strange. It was not there last evening, and it is a bright unusual colour; she would not have missed it. She wafts it away, decides to pick it up later, because she's got letters to read and reply to, scouts to organise, the map to update, requests from the clans folk to answer - a million things!

She is up early, the sun only just risen. Lots to do.

Sigurd grumbles in his sleep; the conclusion of a restless night. Maybe Randvi is awake because of him, too. His presence is a niggling feeling at the back of Randvi's neck - stifling, suffocating, putting her on edge.

She shakes it off, forcibly relaxes her shoulders, unclenches her jaw. She has spent many days and nights trying to settle Sigurd into some semblance of normality, but so far has been met with rebuttal or anger at every attempt. It is awkward between them, now, strained. Was never truly comfortable to begin with, at least not in a matrimonial sense. She must try to move passed it.

Randvi rearranges a set of books, looking for some correspondence notes she'd received the week prior. She finds it quickly, because she runs a tight ship and knows where everything is, exactly. This is her room, her kingdom, the hub that keeps this settlement running and thriving.

There's another feather, on the table in the back corner.

Randvi frowns, contemplative.

She had not put that there. And she would have heard a bird if it had fluttered in - namely because it would have probably been followed by a yowling Nali. It's not a chicken feather; it comes from something more exotic than that. A song bird?

She picks this feather up, scrutinising it, before gathering the first and placing them both by the door to dispose of later. It'll make a good excuse to wander out into the fresh air for a moment or two.

There's another feather, held delicately by the very tip of a nail, wedged into the wood grain of the doorway.

Well, this becomes stranger still…

Randvi glances about the dim room, cannot find any other flashes of yellow, nothing else out of place from how she'd left it late last night. Something in the longhouse catches her eye, though, on the corner of the nearest table. Yellow again, flecks of brown, a bit fluffier. This one is weighed down by an empty plate, the crumbs of someone's bread dinner left upon it.

Randvi stalks towards it, both intrigued and confused.

She's got a million things to do, but there's another feather poking out of a tankard, and another right at the very end of the table, opposite Eivor's open door.

The drengr is gone, risen even before the sun. Randvi spares the room a longing glance, wishful thinking.

She misses Eivor. They had grown accustomed to their new familiarity, comfortable in it. The lingering touches and quiet moments alone - and those less so - had made Randvi's heart beat faster, her insides warm in ways she had never felt before. The looming shadow of Sigurd’s return was always present, but they were sure, hopeful, that he would understand. He'd never seen Randvi much more than a marriage of convenience, even if they had become friends despite of it.

But that was before. Now, the idea of any rendezvous grows fear in Randvi’s chest, makes her sick in her gut. To be found out could be their exile - maybe even their death! Sigurd would surely not be kind to them.

And yet, Randvi’s feeling are at war. Being this distanced from Eivor, especially with the drengr so close, grounded at the settlement for days now, makes her feel endlessly empty. It is a all-encompassing emotion, one that almost swallows the fear whole, sometimes. Maybe they could just—if they are quiet, if they are secretive, maybe…

She shakes herself out of this thought, too, sighs, forlorn and heavy hearted, and glances about the longhouse again. The sight of a new feather helps her squash the pang of longing, and she steels herself to follow what is apparently a trail.

The children must be playing tricks or dares on her, is all. How she hadn't noticed them set their prank worries her a little, though.

She collects a feather just to the left outside of the long house, the rest of the world peaceful beyond. Trilling birds, the distant bubbling of the river, a pig snuffling for breakfast. The sky is beginning to brighten, the trees are glorious in their colours, the purple bells below shiny with dew.

Randvi takes a deep breath, feels calm settle over her as she focuses on this - her home, the homes and workshops she and the clan have built, the tranquillity of the place she has achieved by making them strong. It is still there, but for a moment, she forgets about the darkness behind her.

And she remembers just how stuffy the alliance room is. It’s been days since she’s left it.

Flash of yellow, amongst the lace of ivy on a nearby tree, tied with thin thread so it wouldn't blow away.

Randvi hums quietly to herself, contemplative, gathers the feather into one of her pockets to join the others, and is lured away.

A million things to do, but they can wait.

**********  
The air is fresh as she finds her way - stopping at an abandoned shield, a feather wedged just underneath the metal work, another resting under a small stone, sat upon a greater rock. The path turns left, towards the poultry farm. Three feathers, tied on a string like a banner, lead Randvi across the wooden bridge then out of the settlement.

Randvi gathers them all, eyes alert and darting about to find the next. What tricks are being played against her, she wonders. But nature is undisturbed, and it’s too early for any of the clan to be up and about yet.

One, tied to a raspberry bush, bright against the green and red. A bunch, dangling from a tree branch. She makes her way further from the village, and deeper into the trees.

She looks up, scours ahead, and—Oh!

There are two horses, bay and grey, tied to a tree and grazing quietly together. Not bandits, the animals are too in the open - and they'd be dedicated bandits to lure out a Jarlskona with pretty feathers, if this was indeed a trap! The air is calm, a perfect breeze, the snuffling of rabbits nearby. Nothing untoward.

As Randvi draws closer, she notices yellow feathers plaited into the bay horses mane. She also, as she sidles around the animals, reveals a nearby rock, the perfect size for a lonesome warrior to sit upon, while she checks her arrows.

It wasn’t the children at all. Randvi feels herself grin, feels her step lighten. Willing walks into Eivor's trap.

"My love!" She calls, can't contain it – the pet name, the devotion in her voice - is surprised and happy and feeling childish with joy. They are far enough away into the forest on this quiet morning that no other will hear her. Eivor is cunning.

The warrior herself doesn’t seem shocked to see Randvi, simply turns and rises from her seat with her normal cat-like grace. She looks well rested and more relaxed than Randvi has seen her in days, the pinched expression smoothed out.

"Now,” She says around a smile she’s trying to keep small, Randvi can tell. “What is our War Chief doing all this way from the longhouse?" Eivor asks, eyes sparkling playfully, her voice still quiet and raspy, as if Randvi is the first person to have heard it yet this morning. 

The red head snorts out a laugh, plucks at one of the feathers in the horses mane as she passes it. "I believe someone is playing a trick on me." She says, voice lilting and light.

"Oh?" Eivor acts bemused, her eyes shifting left and right about the clearing, even as she opens her arms for Randvi to step into. They must still be careful; the repercussions are too great. "And you have not sent a scout, or a warrior to investigate for you?"

"No." Randvi breaths, stretching up as she places her hands on Eivor's cloaked shoulders, grinning as she leans towards waiting lips. Eivor’s arms circle her waist for the first time in weeks, and suddenly Randvi feels grounded again, not afloat in a crazy new world of secrets and strange gods. "No, this is a personal matter." She says.

Everything settles, everything stills. It’s just Eivor’s slightly chapped lips against hers, and the warmth of being held. Soft, quiet, remembering what they have been forced to miss. Returned to another.

Randvi sighs contentedly, as she pulls away, watches the darker blue flecks in Eivor’s eyes as she opens them again. Transfixed; she’d forgotten what getting lost in each other felt like.

"But, really Eivor." Randvi says, breaking the spell, leaning back in Eivor’s embrace but not stepping away. She digs into her pocket for the tens and tens of feathers that have led her here, before looking back up a the ruthless, battle-sharp drengr and raising an eyebrow. She brandished the bright yellow fluff, a silent question.

"I like collecting pretty things when I am travelling." Eivor replies, unperturbed and grinning. These things also include old rags, pillowcases, wooden legs, and mouldy cheese – but the table-maiden didn’t need to know about that. Randvi laughs, light like a bird.

“I’m glad you found use for them.” She smiles. “Is this why you have risen so early? Were you sneaking around the longhouse, in the shadows?”

“It is a new skill of mine.” Eivor admits, ducking her head down so they are nose to nose. “Useful for luring the unsuspecting into my clutches.” Randvi hums, shifts her weight and wraps her arms around Eivor’s neck, holding her still and close.

“What is to become of me, now I am yours?” She says, quietly smug, and Eivor’s grin turns a little smirky, a little feral. She backs Randvi towards the nearest tree, hands gripping tight at the strategist’s waist, while Randvi giggles and throws the feathers into the air, to scatter around them.

“Well, little fox, let us see.”

********************************  
It’s mid-morning by the time they gather themselves again. Randvi reorganises her hair, pulls it into a fly away ponytail once she’s gotten rid of all the leaves mixed among the strands. Eivor has already straightened out her attire, and now gathers her equipment before going to the horses. She offers the feathered horse’s reins to Randvi, who takes them, but with a frown.

“Last time, we made do with just one horse.” She says, a little petulant and a little disappointed. It would be nice to relive that again, their trip to Grantebridgescire. She’d have no excuse but to hold Eivor, else she would fall. Obviously.

“Yes, but last time we…” Eivor pauses, looks a little contemplative. Last time had been, of course, when all of this had started. The catalyst of them growing close and familiar with each other, mind and body. But between Eivor’s warring and raiding and travelling, and Randvi being swamped, they haven’t had a chance to go out together again. And now, it is a risk doing this at all. A secret. “We will need a horse to carry all the deer we will hunt.” She concludes, truthfully. It had been her plan, anyway, her guise for if anyone did spot them.

“Ah, another cunning plan!” Randvi grins, heart lifting again – because if one horse was to carry deer, the other must surely have to carry them. “Let us hunt, then.”

“Later.” Eivor says, holding the bay horse still as Randvi swings into the saddle, maybe a little out of practice. “First, we must go north.”

“What is north?”

“I found a place, when I travelled to Lincolnscire. I’d like to show you.” She sounds almost shy, a little, unsure, and Randvi’s heart melts. She leans down, rests a hand against her drengr’s cheek, relishes in the way Eivor flutters her eyes shut and leans against it, unconsciously.

“I’m sure wherever we go today, I will be amazed.”

“I just thought it would be good for both of us.” Eivor says, turning a quick kiss to Randvi’s palm, before moving to her own horse. “To escape, for a while.”

Randvi bites her lip, the thought reminding her of the shadows at her back. “Yes, I agree.” She says, sullen and quiet. Besides her, Eivor jumps into the saddle effortlessly, pats her grey mare and settles herself, before grinning across at Randvi.

“I also thought, since we have two horses…” She begins, and her expression twists into the feral, over-confident Eivor expression that has almost gotten them in trouble on multiple occasions, and Randvi blinks back in suspense. “We should have a race!”

“Ah!” Randvi laughs, grips the reins a little tighter, her horse shifting beneath her. “I am willing.” She says, an air of confidence taking over her. “But where to, Eivor? I am at a disadvantage, not knowing our finishing line.”

Eivor’s eyes are alight with the prosect of a challenge, of competition. “There is a tree,” She says, pointing ahead of them through the forest. “A mile from the forests edge. At the very top of the hill. We will—”

Randvi digs in her heels. With a startled snort her horse half rears and bounds forward. It’s running before Eivor, spluttering and cursing – “Randvi! You little shit!” – has time to react, and spur her own horse into a quickening canter.

Randvi laughs. Weeks of treading on egg shells, of hiding and biting her tongue, is blasted away by the wind in her hair. She gasps fresh air into her lungs that have been constricted by stress, and she hadn’t even known it. She feels suddenly lighter. Her face aches from smiling, there are mirthful tears at the corners of her eyes.

Leaning low against her horses neck, she ducks branches and swerves around trees, kicks her mount on, faster faster! She jumps a small log, unbalances a little, slows, and it’s enough to let Eivor draw up behind her. The drengr is still laughing, that deep chuckle that speaks of complete contentment.

“You sneaky little fox.” She calls above the wind. “You may be quick off the mark, but do you have the endurance?!”

“We both know I do!” Randvi cheers over her shoulder, and digs in her heels again, delighting in the echoing laugh behind her.

They duck and dive through the trees, cloaks dragged by errant twig fingers, squirrels darting from their path. Deer scatter ahead of them, bellowing outrage, but Randvi just laughs and Eivor jeers at her, and this is freedom. The weight of the world is lifted.

They reach the edge of the forest, trees thinning into shrubbery and fruit bushes, and then suddenly they are out in the open and Eivor is roaring encouragement at her mare, drawing side by side across the grass fields. Eivor grins over at her, and Randvi can’t help but return it. She lets a hand loose from the reins, impulsive, and reaches out. Their horses stride together and Eivor’s fingertips meet hers, for a brief second, her smile softening. A moment later her lips quirk again, eyes dancing promisingly.

“Remember, this is a race, Randvi!” She shouts into the wind, and then her horse is galloping forward. Randvi steels herself, digs in her heels and throws the reins, listening to Eivor’s hollered encouragement ahead.

They blast across the fields until they reach the road. They have to swerve sharply left to follow it, and that has Randvi unbalanced again. She is not the wildling she used to be, and her body is not used to being on a horse anymore. But no trouble, because Randvi is cunning, adaptable. Randvi looks ahead and sees the towering tree, what must be their finishing line, and sees the stone walls segregating the land, the rolling hillside, the wide curve of the cobbled road, and she plots.

Eivor is only slightly ahead, if Randvi could just…

“Eivor!” She calls, and the drengr looks over her shoulder expectantly. It is at that moment that Randvi pulls left, at a low point of the wall, and jumps back into the field. Eivor hollers after her, but the wall is too tall for her horse to safely jump, and Randvi has surprise on her side. She gallops up the hill, as Eivor is taken away by the road.

Her legs ache from gipping on, but her blood is rushing and her heart is soaring as high as Synin. She steers for another low point, grabs a handful of feathered mane and sticks with her mounts galloping leap, before heading towards the giant oak, grinning the entire way.

She’s circled around in the shade of the tree a couple of times before Eivor arrives, pulling her horse to a sliding stop, expression endlessly bright despite defeat. Randvi is gasping, adrenaline a buzz in her veins.

“Nice to see you, Wolf-kissed.” Randvi says, a little breathless, and Eivor rolls her eyes, rides up close beside the red head and reaches across for her hand again. She clasps it, bringing it up towards her lips.

“Well won, my love.” She says, face passive, but only for a second, before she’s smirking again. “Even if you are a dirty cheat.” She grins, no malice in it.

Randvi drags her hand away, but only to shove Eivor playfully on the shoulder, enough that the drengr rocks back in the saddle. “I can’t remember you mentioning any rules.” She says, teasingly, and Eivor’s grin grows wider.

“True.” She says. “And if there were any, it is always more fun to break them.” She slides from the saddle. “Now, come. I have a view to show you.”

She helps Randvi down from her horse – Randvi who maybe stumbles a little, and lets herself be caught, then guided by Eivor’s arm at her waist as they lead the horses to the closest field. It's secure enough, with lush grass within to fill their bellies and stop them wandering. Then, the pair turn back for the hill, up towards the oak tree, trunk wider than either of them could reach. Randvi is surrounded by trees of all types, back in the settlement - it is impressive, but nothing unusual. The promised view spreading beyond, however.

“Well…” Randvi says, her breath taken from her. Forest spreads across the valley before her, clustered around more green fields and the twisting, turning road of stone. There is a spire, in the distance, a dark silhouette against the blue, near cloudless sky. Hills, a horizon of colour.

“England is a beautiful country.” Eivor agrees from behind her, and Randvi turns to meet her gaze with a smile.

“It is a shame I cannot see more of it.” She says, the familiar gloom of being tied to a map room adding edge to her words.

“One day.” Eivor says quietly, and it’s a promise. She watches as Synin circles above them. Randvi turns her gaze for the sky, too, and hopes – one day, the settlement will need no more alliances, will need no more upgrades. It’s people will be satisfied, and not need Randvi’s aide. And then maybe she could turn wild again, take up her axe and raid and fight and see the world. With Eivor.

A cautious touch at her fingers, and she jumps a little, didn’t realise she’d been so deep in thought. Eivor ducks her head, entwines their fingers together, squeezes. She waves her other at the horizon, to encompass it all, the breadths of England, the world. “We will take England as our own.” She says, as simply as that, and Randvi hums in agreement, leans into her side and is instantly gratified when Eivor adjusts her stance to support her.

“Me and you.”

“Both of us, yes.”

Eivor collects a blanket from her saddle bag which they place on the rocks clustered at the foot of the great oak, and then, more importantly, bread and cheese wrapped in cloth, and a skin of ale. Randvi sits close, relishes in the fact that they can - no one around for miles – and watches the breeze blow leaves and flowers across the valley below. Eivor feels the same, curls her arm around Randvi’s waist as they eat one handed, passing chunks of cheese between themselves, offering bread crusts to accepting lips, quietly laughing

They talk about Eivor's journey in Ledecestrescire, and the goings on in the settlement: the petty, simple things that get Holger singing sad songs, the requests for more buildings, the supplies they will need for them. It’s the sort of thing Randvi should be discussing with Sigurd, but…well.

They don’t talk about Sigurd, wounds still too fresh, the weight of the world left behind them in the wind as they raced here. Later, they will return to reality, but not now.

It is peaceful, it is gentle touches and quiet laugher, the warmth of each other’s shoulders, trailing finger tips, small, knowing smiles.

“You killed him!”

Until, of course, it isn’t. Eivor actually sighs before she turns to the shout, and Randvi frowns, follows her gaze to a gang of ragged bandits. One is readying a sling shot, another yelling how dead Eivor is to become

“Who are they?” She asks, bemused. The intent is obvious – each bandit has a sword or a dagger or a bow, and each is aiming it at Eivor. “New friends of yours?” The red head smiles, a little darkly. Her blood is up, suddenly, in a way she hasn’t felt since Grantebridgescire. Since they took on that camp together. She leans forward on the rock for a better view of their opponents, rests her hand on her axe as Eivor slides from her seat and onto her feet. The warrior stretches, leisurely – then quickly side steps the first rock shot at her with a growl of annoyance.

She draws her axes, swings one in her grip and grits her teeth into a feral smirk. “They are our unplanned entertainment.” She says, voice husky and deep – dark with promise.

“Ah!” Randvi smirks, bounces onto her feet as well, unsheathing her weapons from her belt. The men share worried glances, the archer lowers his aim, swords tilt down. Apparently whatever silly idea they had in their heads of attacking the Wolf-Kissed is being rethought now she has a friend. Good. “Shall we have another competition?”

Eivor glances at her, lips quirking with more mirth. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, there are nine of them.” Randvi says, nonplussed. “So whoever kills five, wins.”

A quick nod, shifting stance, and Eivor charges with a roar. “You’re on!” Randvi laughs, quick – you cheat! - and gives chase.

They shock the bandits into moving too. Some of the bolder ones shout and dart forward, swinging wildly at Eivor, who cleaves one down as simply as breathing, ducks the others swipe, spins around him, and axes him in the back. The others spread about, falling back to launch arrows and stones, or head for Randvi.

The woman grits her teeth and draws back her axe to meet her first opponent, who is just as uncoordinated. Randvi dances around him, takes an arm for his troubles with a yell. She turns to finish the job just as Eivor puts the other two well and truly in the ground. There’s a whoosh of air as a rock is flung passed her face, and Randvi rounds onto the slingshot in time to dodge his next attack. He fires rapidly, scattering shots that she darts between. Unable to gain ground, she has to leap forward beneath the next barrage and roll back onto her feet, muscles bunching and straining in ways she has almost forgotten. Before the bandit can fire again, she launches at him, brings up her hammer arm and floors him.

Eivor yells behind her, angry. She’s being fired at by the archer, as well as circled by the last two with swords – forced to dance and avoid and fend all at once. Randvi clocks the back of one bandit and twists, throws her axe, watches it spin and hit true in the bandits skull. Satisfied, blood drumming in her ears, mind racing, she turns back to the bandit beneath her boot, and puts her hammer through his face.

Eivor dives for the remaining swordsman, sends his weapon hand flying, and grins manically as she launches into the air, and comes down with both axes. She has to quickly dodge a rain of arrows the second she is done, dances back gracefully before charging forward again, some sort of berserker move that the archer isn’t quick enough to fend against. He’s thrown to the ground, pummelled with fists that end him gurgling.

All this happens in Randvi’s peripherals, as she zones in on her next target, who’s trembling, nattering scared to himself, staring at her with blood on her face and fire in her veins, and she’s missed this. Missed the thrill of a fight, even if her opponents aren’t really worth the mess. She dashes forward with a shout, as the bandit stumbles backwards, and is disappointed when the man actually turns tail and flees.

“Hej!” She yells, racing after him. “You disturbed my picnic, and now you’ve decided better of it?!”

She’s quicker than him, catches him and sends him barrelling to the ground. It’s easy to hammer him in the neck so he chokes.

Randvi rises, beathing heavily, but frowning. She hears movement behind her, and stands slowly, wipes the blood from her weapon. Sure, familiar footsteps, and Eivor is beside her, offering Randvi back her axe.

“Good shot.” She says, looking pleased and wild with blood on her cheek and fly away hair.

“Thank you. But where’s the last one?”

Eivor scours the area, expression focused, before nodding towards the oak. “Like a coward.” She says, and strides forward. The bandit jumps out of his skin from where he was hidden, yelling in fright, before turning tail and running. He heads for the field where the horses are, the pair of them stood on alert, ears pricked at the commotion.

If Randvi is not mistaken, their competition is at a draw, currently. Better be quick, then. The red head breaks into a run, spurring Eivor to quickly follow, and then they are charging forward together. The bandit risks a glance over his shoulder, panics, throws a rock aimlessly that bounces harmlessly to their left.

It doesn’t disturb either of their focus. They are warriors, predators - steps as in sync as the war cries on their lips. Eivor’s bubbles to a growl as the bandit scales the wall and grabs for her horses reins. The mare skitters sideways and takes off, her bay friend following, leaving the bandit helpless and turning to meet them with eyes wide and hands shaking, out of ammo or hope. They jump the wall together, land, and descend.

Randvi stretches, dives forward for the bandits gut, while above her she feels Eivor swing back and wide, before taking the bandits head clean off with a roar, arterial spray raining on the both of them. The bandit buckles heavily, thuds to the floor. The stand above the body, both of them panting and blood stained.

But more importantly, Randvi’s axe got there first.

“Fools.” Eivor rasps, rocking back in her stance and rubbing a gloved hand across her mouth and cheek, smudging red.

“They obviously didn’t realise who they were dealing with.” Randvi says, residual adrenalin making her arms shake with excitement, chest full of such pride as she watches Eivor, prized drengr of the Raven Clan, her warrior - her lover - nonchalantly wipe the blood from her axe before sheathing it. She is blessed by the gods, she is the swift wind incarnate, the power of a mountain. It’s exhilarating to watch, even more to fight beside.

To win against. “I make that two to zero.” Randvi says, a little dance in her step as she nudges the bandit in the side, where his gaping stomach wound oozes. Her fifth kill.

Eivor splutters out a laugh, eyebrows raised. Then she swiftly reaches across to clasp Randvi by the back of the neck, drawing her forward until they are nose to nose again. Randvi startles a little, but laughs into those glittering eyes full of battle-fire, and drops her hammer and axe without care to instead grip at Eivor’s jaw, tilting her head just in time to meet Eivor’s firm, ravishing kiss.

“Well, okay then.” Randvi says once they come up for air, is embarrassingly breathless and flushing, but does not care one bit. “I’ll concede to a draw.”

“Hmm.” Eivor responds, smug expression saying what words do not need to.

******************************************

They gather the horses, and head further up the cobbled road. Eivor points out things in the distance – a ruin she visited, a place to avoid when mushroom picking, bears, she says, hauntedly – and Randvi is enraptured and laughs more than she has done in months. There’s blood under her nails and matted in her hair, her sleeve is torn. She’s out in the fresh air, muscles aching pleasantly for so many reasons, and now they will hunt deer and eat well tonight around the fires with their clansmen. She is happy.

They only have Eivor’s bow – because this morning Randvi had a day of paperwork ahead of her, not deer stalking – so they take turns. Randvi’s aim isn’t as true as Eivor’s, who can head shot everything within one hundred yards, even through tree cover, but they’re not here to collect pelts.

They take down three sizable deer and a handful of rabbits, before they gather their spoils all together and start strapping them to the horse.

“A good haul.” Eivor comments, adjusting a rope.

“Yes, Petra and Wallace will be pleased to have a day off.” Randvi replies, watching her. She is, admittedly, growing tired now. The afternoon is drawing to a close, and she forgets how drained a fight leaves her – adrenaline crash making her weak, limbs and eyelids heavy. Eivor, satisfied with the rigging, turns to her, expression falling a little.

“My love?” She questions, a worried hint to her tone. Randvi blinks, shakes her head.

“Sorry, I—” The day is ending, the weight of the world sinking back onto her shoulders. They are headed home, to work and responsibility and Sigurd’s glower and secrets. Randvi sighs. “I’m a little tired.”

“It has been quite a day.” Eivor admits, smiling gently. She reaches for Randvi, leans forward to kiss her, lingering but soft. Randvi sighs, content, and is saddened when Eivor pulls away.

There is darkness building in the sky - soon it’ll be night, and they have a way to go. The drengr still has that small, satisfied smirk on her face, and she still moves swiftly, unphased by fighting and lugging around seventy pound deer. She guides Randvi to the grey horse, and Randvi lets her, enjoys the hand on the small of her back – for soon it will be gone again.

Eivor swings herself into the saddle, and offers the other woman her hand. “Come on, Randvi.” Slightly dazed, the red head clasps their hands together, jumps when Eivor pulls, and finds herself off kilter when she ends up on the front of the saddle, and not the back. Eivor scoots backwards a little, shifts and adjusts until they are both settled and comfortable. She rests her chin on Randvi’s shoulder. “Okay?”

More than. Randvi feels herself sag, relax, and leans back against the enveloping warmth and solidity of Eivor, secured by the other woman’s arms around her to reach the reins. Enjoying the press of their bodies together. She sighs again, small smile slipping onto her lips. “Of course, my love.”

“Good.” Eivor gathers Randvi more securely, an arm around her waist and a kiss to the side of her neck before she sets off, one hand on the reins, pack horse pulled behind them.

Randvi is tired, bone-deep tired – Sigurd and secrets and trying-to-overrule-a-new-kingdom-tired - and is lulled by the rocking of the horse. She succumbs after a few minutes to resting her head back against Eivor’s armoured shoulder, padded by wolf fur. She turns her face, glances up at the drengr who doesn’t look her way, but smiles knowingly.

“Rest.” She says, and Randvi closes her eyes. “You won today, my little wildling.”

Randvi just smiles into the fur, grips Eivor’s hand about her waist, and closes her eyes.

******************************

It is nearing dark when they reach Ravensthorpe, because they stay at a walk, and a slow one at that. Eivor will say it’s to save the horses, but she would be lying. She turns her nose into Randvi’s hair, holds her tighter for just a moment. The red head murmurs something undiscernible, still dozing. She manages to open her eyes, blinks sleepily, smiles up at Eivor. The drengr’s heart clenches painfully in response. 

One day. One day they’ll be able to wake and step out like this, no questions, no repercussions. But for now, Eivor must fully wake the sleeping fox, and they must turn their faces to stone, and step away from each other again. People to feed and fight for and protect, the world is not yet completely theirs.

But one day, they will be relinquished of their responsibilities and promises, and that day will be their freedom.

**Author's Note:**

> “Eivor.”
> 
> “Yes, Randvi.”
> 
> “Why is your room full of wooden legs?”
> 
> “…they make good fire wood.”
> 
> “And the cheese? /Mouldy/ cheese?”
> 
> “Keeps the bandits away...!”
> 
> “Why do you need fifteen broken compasses?! And are those other people’s teeth? By the Gods—!”
> 
> “Oh, I have a letter. I’ve been summoned away to a distant land, bye!”
> 
> “Eivor!”


End file.
